


Not That I Was A Saint

by orphan_account



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: 1920s, 1920s AU, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Angst, Felicity and Monty have an ok relationship because I love them, Heavy Angst, Henry Sr gets on everyones nerves, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Percy does have epilepsy, Prohibition, idk im bad at tags, lots of drinking wowee, monty is a mess as always, percy is a mess but less so, these two are both messes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-09-17 22:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “He throws his head back and laughs; and I treat myself for a moment. I let my eyes travel over the lump and hollow of his throat. How I would love to press my lips there, graze my teeth there. I shake my head to clear my mind. Sinner’s thoughts—not that I was a saint.”[Prohibition Era AU]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Less Obvious) Slang glossary!  
> Zozzled: drunk  
> Bugger: unattractive girl or student  
> Elephant Ears: police  
> Bearcat: feisty woman  
> Under Glass: in jail  
> Pinched: arrested  
> Nailed: caught by police  
> Bruno: tough guy  
> Bull: plainclothes cop  
> Sap: dumb guy  
> Out on the roof: to be drunk  
> Bum's rush, to get the: kicked out  
> obviously implied child abuse  
> Listen to the not that i was a saint playlist! [not that i was a saint< /a >](https://open.spotify.com/user/1244763432/playlist/0b5dEHyjSztoEO73Bz3rlS?si=adfNSaqOQxGrlAkyyxDL5A)

“Monty!” There was a much louder than necessary knock at my door. I was in the middle of ruffling my hair around, trying to give it that classic ‘I woke up like this’ look. But of course, I was interrupted by Percy and his ungodly knocking. Percy was gangly, but he was stronger than he thought he was, which made for a bad combination when he tried to do simple tasks like knocking. It always sounds like he’s trying to beat down the door.

I laughed, “Christ, Perce, I’m just getting dressed!” I called, giving up on my hair and pulling my jacket on. “Come on in.”

Percy swung the door open, strutting up behind me and crossing his arms. “Well? I’m here. What the hell are you roping me into tonight?”

I grinned, “Care to get zozzled?”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Monty, I thought after last time—”

“That was a one time thing!” I protested.

“But it could be a multiple time thing.”

“Percy, you can’t be so worried about one time.” I began, but Percy didn’t let me continue.

“I’m not eager to see you in jail, and I’m sure your father isn’t eager to bail you  _ out _ .” Percy lectured, going to fiddle with the knobs on the radio until some scratchy tune started playing.

“Relax, Perce, it’ll be fine.” I soothed, turning to face him. He was wearing one of his dumb pageboy hats. I reached over and pulled it off his head. “You look like a bugger.” I tossed the hat onto my dresser.

“Really? I think they’re the cat’s meow!”

I sighed, taking his face in my hands. Percy held a few inches on me now, not that I was ever very tall, but we used to at least be level. Now he was tall and full, where I was just short and squat. “Percy, I say this because I care about you.” I began, meeting his warm brown eyes seriously. “Those hats are atrocious.”

Percy pouted, “I should get to wear my hat if we’re going to one of your clubs.”

“If you wear that hat, we won’t get  _ into  _ the club.” I retorted, snapping one of his suspenders before pulling away. “Come on, I want to get going.”

Percy sighed heavily but, like always, he wouldn’t say no to me. I smiled, taking his hand and pulling him out of my room.

“Where are you two off to?”

I halted, turning to face Felicity. She was almost my height now and it was mortifying. She eyed us suspiciously, eyes squinted. My sister had a sharp chin and wide eyes, her hair now cut in a short brown bob. It didn’t make her any less intimidating. Felicity had experience staring men down. Elephant ears usually showed up at her women’s rallies and she wasn’t afraid of them one bit.

Felicity was all about the Women’s Movement—though she said you couldn’t catch her dead in a flapper’s dress. Personally, I saw no problem with it. Our family needed more scandals for people to whisper about behind our father’s back. People called Felicity a bearcat and they were right. If my parents wanted a Dumb Dora out of Felicity that they could mold to fit in with their high-society friends, they got the exact opposite. I knew they secretly set their hopes in this next child; a do-over where they failed with me and Felicity.

“What’s it matter to you, bearcat?” I replied, eyeing her up and down.

“I just hope you aren’t going to one of your clubs—”

“Why are they always  _ my  _ clubs? They’re just clubs. Why are they suddenly mine?” I interrupted.

“No one frequents them as often as you do.” Felicity replied. I opened my mouth to protest but she beat me to it. “Percy doesn’t count when he’s a semi-willing accomplice.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, wise head. And why can’t I go to the club?”

“For one, it’s illegal—”

“Hey, going to clubs isn’t illegal.  _ Giggle juice  _ is illegal.”

“You’ll be drinking at the club, you boozehound. And after last time—”

I cut her off again, turning to glare at Percy. “You told her?!”

Percy blushed, a light tint against his brown skin. “Someone should know where to find you if it goes south again!” He defended.

“Find me under glass?” I asked drily. “Father would look for me there  _ first _ .”

“Would that be so wrong?” Felicity teased. I kicked her in the shin and she winced, kicking me back. “Hey, don’t kick me,  _ fella _ !”

“Well, unless you plan on snitching on me, would you kindly step aside? Percy and I have somewhere to be.” I smirked. She could say what she wanted, but none of them were going to stop me. Prohibition be damned, drinking was the only enjoyable thing at the moment while I was still carrying a torch for Percy.

Felicity scoffed, “Henry,” she huffed. I couldn’t help it: I flinched. But if Felicity noticed, she made no show of it. Percy, on the other hand, looked to me pityingly.

I waved off his pity. I didn’t need it. “Look, unless you’re going to tell Father, I don't have time for this.”

Felicity stared at me for a moment as if actually considering telling our father. The mere idea filled me with a cold dread. He had never once approved of my ‘habits’ but he’d made it quite clear that if I got myself pinched for drinking that he’d skin me alive. Disinheritance wasn’t a valid threat  _ yet.  _ But once the Goblin was born, I was sure he’d start using that as leverage too. I took the threat that he’d skin me more seriously, though. He’d have no qualms about that one.

She sighed sharply through her nose like she always did when the was frustrated with me. “Fine, go on, but I won’t be begging father to bail you out when get nailed.”

“When do you ever beg?” I cocked an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth turned up. I knew I’d won then, pushing Felicity out of my way. It didn’t do much good—I certainly wasn’t a bruno—but it was unexpected enough that Felicity stumbled to the side, making room for me to pass with Percy trailing behind.

“You really should be nicer to Felicity. She’s the only reason your father hasn’t gotten on you about this yet.” Percy scolded gently, letting me lead him out of the manor and into the streets. It was a rather short walk from the manor to the club, given how close to the city we were. Montague Manor was wedged between all the other estates belonging to my parents’ wealthy friends, just at the edge of the city.

I scoffed, “Felicity only keeps quiet because she wants to stay out of my parents’ way as much as I do. If she snitches, she’ll be caught at the head of my father’s anger, and Mother will scold her for being in ‘men’s business’. Those are large prices to pay just to get a little retaliation against me.”

“You know if your father finds out—”

“He’ll scold me. Maybe a slap or two will be doled out, but nothing more. Drinking is hardly a punishable offense. Everyone drinks.”  
“Just not as much as you.”

“Just not as much as me.” I agreed.

Percy linked his arm with mine. “I wish you’d stop courting trouble, Monty.”

I laughed, “I’m not courting trouble. Flirting with it, at most.”

“Monty, trouble is practically in love with you by now.” Percy teased. I only laughed again. If anyone were to be in love with me, I’d want it to be Percy.

My favorite club—The Shredded Sharper—had gone down in business some with the new amendment. It didn’t bother me any, though. Less people meant less attention from the heat. I just had to say who sent me at the door, which was easy because I’d been to The Shredded Sharper countless times after I’d found out about it. I really don’t even have to speak if the right person opens the hatch. I pulled Percy inside.

“You see? Not a pageboy hat in sight.” I teased him as we walked in, dragging my eyes over the place. Percy snorted, slinging his arm around me. It was ridiculous how such a simple touch sent my stomach reeling. I relished it for a moment before slipping out of his grip and pulling him to the bar with me. You couldn’t ask outright for liquor anymore, even if getting in was restricted. You could buy it if you knew what to say. It wasn’t terribly difficult for bulls to sneak their way in but as long as they didn’t catch you getting liquor, you were safe.

I ordered two tiger milks for me and Percy. The phrase wouldn’t fool most bulls, but it was more inconspicuous than outright asking for bourbon.

The club wasn’t outrageously loud, more of a muffled din. Jazz was being played at the stage and flappers danced, weaving through the club. Percy found us a table, waving me over as soon as I got our drinks. I sat across from him, sliding his glass to him. “See? No one was arrested this time. Hell, even if the heat was here, I doubt they’d turn down a nice bribe.”

He took the glass, even though he rolled his eyes. “You scoundrel,” Percy teased.

I grinned, “A scoundrel is a fun thing to be.”

“It’s not a compliment, you sap.”

“I’m taking it as one.” I shrugged.

He throws his head back and laughs, and I treat myself for a moment. I let my eyes travel over the lump and hollow of his throat. How I would love to press my lips there, graze my teeth there. I shake my head to clear my mind. Sinner’s thoughts—not that I was a saint. Being stuck on your best friend is an entire new circle of hell.

I took a sip from my glass and whiskey burned down my throat. I smiled at that. Whiskey and gin: my usuals. There was an odd comfort in the familiar burn in my chest, distracting me from the ache that sat right next to it. Percy tamed his laughter and smiled at me again. I may have the dimples, but Percy’s smiles lit up entire rooms.

I took another drink, a longer one.

“Keep drinking like that and you’ll be out on the roof in an hour.” Percy noted, nudging my foot with his.

“I could be out on the roof in less than that if they weren’t so stingy here anymore.” I replied, swirling my already half-empty cup.

Percy shrugged, “Prohibition,” he said in way of explanation. “Liquor is harder to find.”

“You think they’d be kinder to one of their most frequent patrons, though.”

“I’m not sure you should want that title.”

“I should be,” I grumbled in reply. I brought the glass to my lips again, but stopped as a flapper came up behind Percy. She was a slight thing, like a fragile version of Felicity, with gentler features. She slipped her arms onto his shoulders, leaning down with her face level to his.

Percy blanched, staring at me with wide eyes.  _ Help me _ , he pleaded silently, but I shrugged helplessly.

“Are you part of the band?” The flapper asked. Her voice slurred and she was obviously zozzled. Percy made a face at what was probably the smell of liquor on her breath. I stifled a laugh. “You look like you should be in the band.”

Percy raised an eyebrow and we both turned to look at the band playing. I was confused, but Percy, sighed heavily, sitting back in his chair with her still clinging to him.

“No,” Percy said flatly. He peeled her off of him, pushing her a few inches away from us. She frowned and stomped off to find another unsuspecting bird to harass.

“The hell was she talking about?  _ Part of the band? _ ” I asked, finally drinking more whiskey.

Percy scoffed, “Monty, look at the band again.” He instructed, so I did. It was four dark-skinned men, three playing instruments and the fourth singing. I looked back at Percy, raising an eyebrow. He sighed again. “You big palooka, it’s because I’m colored, Monty.”

“What? Why does that matter?”

Percy laughed weakly and took my face in his hands. I wanted to kiss him, regardless of whatever we were talking about. He was so close and The Shredded Sharper was exactly the kind of place where I could do so without getting beaten to a bloody pulp. My stomach rolled around against my sides again and my breath hitched.

_ Damnit Monty,  _ I scolded myself.  _ He’s hardly touching you and you’re getting riled up. _

“Some people aren’t as oblivious and  _ accommodating  _ to my race as you and your family are, Monty. She just thinks all colored people are jazz players. Not the worst comment I’ve heard.”

“But that’s stupid. Anyone who knows you knows you have no musical talent whatsoever.” I teased, partly to relax Percy and partly to end this conversation. I’d seen Percy take shit for being colored all the time, but if people really knew him, they’d know he was kinder and smarter than any white man I knew. It was all shit. I didn’t like talking about it at all.

Percy snorts and I know it’s worked. “Violin _ is _ musical talent, you tone-deaf egg.”

I made a face. “Are you sure of that, Perce?”

“You wouldn’t know good music if it hit you over the head with a bottle of whiskey.”

“I’m not sure I  _ could _ know anything if I were hit over the head with a bottle of whiskey.” I pointed out. Though, I knew for a fact that you could retain your intelligence after being hit over the head with a bottle.

“You know what I mean.” Percy kicks my foot and I gasp as if I’d been shot, just to mess with him.

“Percy! I didn’t know you could be so violent!” I taunted, mocking a pout.

“I’ll show you violent.” Percy said in reply, though I knew he wouldn’t lay a hand on me (not to harm me, anyhow).

I laughed, downing the rest of my glass. “You wish you could take me down, Perce. You’re scrawnier than I am.”

Percy scoffed, “Now you’re just being mean.”

“Of course not! You know I hold the highest respect for you.” I said, beginning my best imitation of Lockwood—our butler who favored scolding me.

Percy recognized the voice immediately and he snorted. “I apologize, Mister Montague.” He replied, putting on his best Lockwood voice as well. (His wasn’t near as good as mine.)

“Perhaps you could make it up to me by getting me another glass?” I asked, grinning hopefully.

Percy rolled his eyes, but got up anyway.

 

“And what time did you get home last night?”

“Good afternoon, Felicity.” I greeted in reply. I was sitting on the railing of our second floor balcony. Mother loved to scold me for that, but I hadn’t fallen yet so it’ clearly safer than she thinks. I flicked ash off the end of my gasper. I didn’t smoke often, but I had a headache when I woke up.

“Smoking already? You’ve hardly gotten up.” Felicity observed. I didn’t have to look back at her to know she was smirking. I flicked ash behind me. I knew it wouldn’t hit her but it was the sentiment that counted.

“You need to lighten up, bearcat.”

“I don’t need to do anything after covering for you last night.”

I winced. As much as we fought, I knew I was at least a little in Felicity’s debt. “Right, thanks.”

Felicity snorted. “You’re terrible.”

“Hush, or I’ll tell Mother you’ve expressed an interest in sewing.”

Felicity muttered something about sewing my mouth shut in reply. I laughed, taking this as victory. “I’ll push you off that damn balcony.”

“Please do,” I replied easily. “I’ll just spend the rest of my afterlife haunting you.”

“We all know you’re going to hell, Monty.”

“Ouch, the bearcat has her claws out this morning.” I said drily. We weren’t a religious family, but Father occasionally dangled the bible over my head when he was extremely disappointed.

I felt a touch on my shoulder that was clearly Felicity, but was so unexpected that I jumped and nearly launched myself off of the balcony. Felicity quickly grabbed my torso, pulling me back. “What was that?” She asked, looking at me with a very non-Felicity like concern.

“Nothing, you merely startled me.” I shrugged, pulling away from her. I put out my cigarette in the ashtray and straightened myself out. “Now, did you need something or did you just want to get an early start on quarrelling with me?”

“Mother is on a baking kick. Come help me eat these.”

“Another? I’ve already eaten enough marshmallows for a lifetime.” I complained.

“She wants to feel useful. Just come on.” Felicity grabbed my hand and dragged me downstairs. We found Mother in the kitchen, balancing a tray of cake bites on her stomach. She’d been baking trays a day, trying to feel useful as her heavy belly made her incapable of much else. As of now, Mother had been pregnant with our next sibling for almost nine months and supposedly the sibling in question will be born any day now. Like any good brother—which Felicity can attest that I’m not—I should be at least anticipatory of the new sibling, but I only dreaded the Goblin. (I refused to acknowledge the new sibling as anything other than ‘sibling’ or ‘Goblin’. Felicity says it’s churlish but I stand by it.)

When that Goblin is born, it poses a threat to my life. (Percy calls that dramatic, but he’s never sat in a room alone with my father.) The Goblin gives my father’s threats of giving me the bum’s rush weight. If The Goblin turns out male, it could act as an heir to my father’s estate which until now, would have had to go to me or my father would have to settle for someone out of the Montague bloodline. Legally, it could go to Felicity, but Father refused. All the better for me, or I would have been kicked out years ago.

But here came this monstrosity, out of nowhere—Percy liked to remind me that you can’t say the Goblin came from  _ nowhere _ , but it was better than thinking about how the Goblin came about—and making a mess of my life. I know my parents have their hopes set on raising the Goblin to be civilized, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s why they conceived the little demon in the first place.

Though I despised the Goblin, I couldn’t help but pity it in the slightest. Our parents’ poor pet project.

“Nice to see you up and about, Henry.” My mother said, handing me the tray she was holding. Mother was the only person who called me Henry without being rewarded with a flinch. Perhaps it was how she said it. Mother was never rough with me. My father carried enough cruelty for the both of them.

I set the tray on the table as Mother dug around in the refrigerator. Mother pulled out a lemonade pitcher, pouring glasses for her, Felicity, and I.

“Are you feeling better, darling?” She asked me, handing me a glass.

I almost responded with  _ what?  _ when Felicity fixes me with a glare. This was her cover for me. “Oh, yes, much better.”

She smiled, “Wonderful.” She kissed my cheek and paused, wrinkling her nose. “Have you been smoking, Henry?” Her voice was low, her face close to mine, so I flinched away. Father had done that before: leaning close to smell the smoke on me as if he hadn’t already caught me, asking me if I’d smoked so I had the choice of denying it and getting hit for it or admitting to it and getting hit. There was never a right answer.

Mother fixed me with a pained look but whether it was for the smoking or for the flinch I wasn’t sure. I didn’t have a reply for her, so she merely sighed and went to fetch straws for us.

Felicity crossed her arms with a smug look and I rolled my eyes.

“Ah, Henry, you’re finally up.”

I shrunk by two inches, hunching my shoulders as my father appeared. We were strikingly similar: same brown hair, gray blue eyes, and short, stocky stature. Felicity, though people claimed she looked like Mother, was merely a feminine version of Father and I. Mother had shining green eyes, light brown—almost blonde—hair. I suppose the similarity is in the faces, but Felicity was almost always scowling or frowning. Any hope of Felicity looking as nice as mother was ruined due to her own cynicism. 

“Oh, quit slouching, you’re small enough without it.” Father scolded, clapping me on the shoulder. I flinched, but did as he said. He went to kiss the top of Mother’s head before making coffee for himself, despite it being noon.

The doorbell rang and I rushed to answer it, desperate to leave the room. It was Percy, who I’ve told countless times that he doesn’t need to knock because he’s been visiting for years.

Percy skipped a greeting and scrunched his face. “Have you been smoking?” Percy didn’t have any qualms about our drinking antics, but he wasn’t one for smoking. He claims it’s preference but I think it was the doing of his aunt. Percy’s often sick in bed and she fusses over all he could be doing to avoid that.

I sighed through my nose, a direct copy of my mother and Felicity. “Yes, and you’re the third person to point that out. Now lower your voice or there will be a fourth that I’d rather not deal with.”

Percy nodded. “Sorry. Did you just wake up?”

I nod and let him in. “Do you want cake bites? Mother is baking again.”

“We’ve got plenty, Percy. Come eat, you’re far too skinny.” My mother appeared in the doorway of the parlor, holding the tray of cake bites.

Percy smiled sheepishly. He often gets ‘too skinny’ comments from my mother. Though, she’s not wrong. Percy is all skin and bones. I blame it on his giving up meat. “Thank you, Mrs. Montague.”

This satisfied Mother. She smiled and returned to the kitchen.

“I’ve had so many of those this week alone, I don’t think I could touch another one.” I sigh, leaning into Percy’s side.

“I heard that! Both of you in the kitchen!” Mother called.

Percy snorted. “Come on, Monty, a few more cake bites won’t kill you.”

“You don’t know that.”

 

I always liked Percy’s house better than mine. It wasn’t the house exactly, it was just that it wasn’t my house. Percy’s house only held good memories for me. There was the stairwell we tried to slide down the banister of on serving trays. That wasn’t one of my best ideas, and Percy wore a busted lip for a week to prove it. Percy claims not to regret it, though.

It was September, meaning it was cold at my house with all the big windows and large room. But Percy lives in his aunt and uncle’s penthouse. It’s nice this time of year, so Percy offered for us to spend time there. His aunt and uncle were obviously not there. They didn’t like Percy being around me. They were convinced I was a bad influence—which was true, though it wasn’t like Percy was an angel.

I was rummaging through the cabinets, looking for any contraband his guardians might have. “Doesn’t your uncle keep any liquor in this house?”

“Not since it was outlawed.” Percy chuckled, putting his hands on my shoulders and setting his chin on top of my head. “Uncle threw it all out two years ago.”

I sighed, “Those Powells,” I shake my head in mock disappointment.

“Law abiding citizens, how horrible.” Percy joked and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Not as if either of us is a law abiding citizen.” I pointed out.

Percy grunts in reply. “We could be if not for you.” He teased.

“You say that as if I force you into these things!” I look up at him. If I weren’t so stuck on Percy, constantly looking up to face him would be wildly aggravating. “You are always a willing consort.”

Percy made a face and I nudged him with my shoulder.

“Well, if there’s no liquor in your house, you must entertain me.” I said, turning around to face him entirely. I could feel the heat from his neck—which I am level with—against my face.

Percy took a step back and it felt like he was pushing me away, but I knew it was only for facility’s sake. “How do you suppose I do that?”

I brought a finger to my chin, acting as if it required deep thought. After a moment, I made my decision. “Play for me.”

“You mean my violin?”  
I nodded.

“I thought you hated music.”

“Well, I’m partial to yours.” I smiled, making sure to have my dimples on full display. “Besides, you’re always badgering me to have more ‘appreciation for the arts’ and such.”

Percy pursed his lips. He knew what I was saying was true, so he couldn’t exactly argue. “Fine, but no complaints.”

“No promises.” I replied.  _ But how could I complain about anything about you? _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, it's a bit shorter.  
> Listen to the not that I was a saint playlist! not that i was a saint

One of my favorite of Percy’s faces was his face when he was playing the violin. He looked so focused yet so . . . content. When Percy played, nothing could touch him. It was strange, watching Percy play; sometimes it seemed like the most intimate thing in the world because Percy rarely let people watch him play, but other times it seemed to put thousands of miles between us.

I, as requested, listened to Percy silently. I truly only asked so I could  _ watch _ him play rather than listen, but I could admit that he was a good player. Though I had no ear for music, so what did I know?

Percy finished, setting his bow aside and looking to me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What? Like what?” I replied, doing my best to compose whatever expression had been on my face.

Percy shrugged, “You just . . .” he trailed off before shaking his head. “Never mind.”

I let it go because it likely saved me from embarrassment. “Well. in my ‘tone deaf egg’s opinion, you played wonderfully.”

Percy chuckled, setting his violin in its case. “I’m not sure your opinion holds much weight.” He teased, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

I swatted him away, looking hurt. “Well, god forbid I try to say something nice.”

Percy snorted, “I would worry if you did.”

“You make me feel like some sort of scoundrel!”

“You are.”

I didn’t have a response to that one, so I sat silently, pouting. Percy packed his things up again before nudging my legs and sitting next to me. I immediately shifted my body to lean into his side, which he allowed without question. That was one of the beauties of my friendship with Percy. We were always touchy. It can be confusing when sifting through my feelings for him, but it allowed me, sometimes, to pretend. When I had my head resting on Percy’s shoulder and he played idly with my curls, I could almost convince myself we were more than we were.

 

Percy’s aunt and uncle returned home at some point later that night, but they had guests, so Percy wasn’t allowed to eat with them. All the better, I guess, because it allowed me to keep him all for myself in his room.

“Is it often like this?” I asked, lying on my back on Percy’s floor. Percy was above me on the bed, lying on his stomach so he could look down at me. Although it was nice not to be expected down at the table, it started to feel more like we were being held hostage.

“When they have guests, yeah.” Percy nodded.

I grimaced, pursing my lips. “Boring, isn’t it?”

Percy laughed. “You could say that, yes.”

“Would miserable be a better word?”

“Perhaps.”

“The Powells are stiffs.”

That drew another laugh out of Percy, a more lively one. I smiled, living for his laughter. “Yes, Monty,” Percy finally replied when he pulled himself together. “They certainly are.”

He didn’t lose his smile and I lost myself in it. I let my eyes drag to Percy’s lips, if only for a moment, if only to watch him smile and see how his teeth graze his lip when he does.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I needed to get my head on straight.

Percy reached down and pressed a finger between my eyebrows.

“What are you doing?” I frowned.

“You were thinking,” was Percy’s reply, as if that made total sense.

“What?”

“Whenever you think too hard, usually about things you shouldn’t, you furrow your brows. You get a crease between them. It’s how I know when you’re thinking.” Percy grinned at me, his finger still pressed to my forehead.

I couldn’t help smiling softly in reply. “It’s rather scary how well you know me.”

“That’s what happens when you’re stuck with someone for most of your life.” Percy teased, finally pulling his hand away from my face.

“You love it.” I said, putting on a show of winking. Percy snorted, then flicked me on the forehead.

I swatted him away and pulled myself up to sit on the bed. Percy set his head in my lap. “I guess you can be tolerable, sometimes.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

 

Percy has always been the heavier sleeper between the two of us. That being said, it was quite surprising when I was woken up because Percy smacked in the face.

I sat up, glaring. “Percy, what in he—”

I was cut off by Percy flailing and smacking me again. It was weaker that time and when I looked at him, I noticed his eyes were shut. I leaned over to turn on his lamp and see Percy, curled in on himself, jaw clenched, shuddering. I tried to shake him, thinking it’s only a nightmare—not that nightmares had ever been a common occurrence in Percy.

Percy didn’t stir as I shook him. Rather, his shuddering worsened. He was convulsing, as if he wanted to escape his own body. I panicked. What was I to do? What was happening?

Though I wasn’t sure how it would help whatever was going on, I figured the Powells would know more than I did about it. I ran to his aunt and uncle’s bedroom, I pounded on the door, shouting things about Percy convulsing.

His aunt answered the door, looking more weary than frightened. She led me back to Percy’s room, laying Percy on his side. “Leave him like this.” She instructed, “There is nothing else for us to do.”

“We can’t just leave him like this!” I exclaimed, watching as Percy continued to convulse, spit flying from his mouth now. It was grotesque and a part of me was fairly sure Percy was dying. Yet his aunt seemed so . . . calm. She held Percy by his shoulder and watched for a moment before turning away from him.

“I’m returning to bed. Let him ride it out.” She mumbled as if she were half asleep. She might have been. She wasn’t exactly running to Percy’s side.

“That’s all?!” I frowned, putting my hand on Percy’s shoulder where his aunt’s had been. I held him on his side like she’d done. I felt panicked because there was nothing else to be done. Shouldn’t we do something? Percy’s convulsions had eased a little, but he was sweating and flushed.

Percy’s aunt said nothing more, slipping out of the room. She left me to hold Percy up through his fit.

 

Percy had calmed down within moments of his aunt leaving. The fit really only lasted four minutes at the most, but it had felt like years that I watched Percy suffer. When it stopped, he stilled, looked up at me and muttered something unintelligible, and fell back asleep. I stayed awake at his side, watching him. If Percy were to have one of those again, I wanted to be awake. Maybe I could help him. Or at least I would be more prepared.

He never did, thank God. Regardless, I watched him sleep the entire night and couldn’t even enjoy it, making sure he wouldn’t start again. I started panicking every time he moved.

I was exhausted by the time Percy stirred. He smiled as me, easily. I wondered if he remembered the night before. I had so many questions, starting with  _ what the hell _ .

“Morning, Monty, you’re up early.” Percy mumbled, blinking as he sat up. He looked at me again, squinting. “You look tired.”

I shrugged, “Just not used to being up this early.” I said, deciding to save my questions for when he was more conscious. “Care for breakfast?”

Percy stretched, arching his back. He’s always dramatic in the mornings, making a show of getting up. It’s rather adorable—not that I’d tell him that. “I wouldn’t mind that.” He says, smiling as he slid out of bed.

I followed him downstairs, feeling slightly unsteady. It was likely the tiredness but there was nothing to do about it. Percy dug through his kitchen, hoping to find leftovers we could salvage. Neither of us had skills in the kitchen; my mother took care of that, and in Percy’s case his aunt did.

“We’re going to have to settle for coffee.” Percy sighed, giving up on his search.

“What a tragedy,” I said sarcastically, sliding off of the counter I’d been sitting on.

“You’re a tragedy.” Percy muttered in reply, telling me he wasn’t entirely awake. I snorted, elbowing him in the side.

“Mister Montague, I wasn’t aware you were still here.”

Percy and I turned, interrupted by his aunt, who stood in the doorway looking annoyed. She has the same soft features as Percy, the same thin nose and high cheeks. I’m sure his father looked the same—not that we’d ever know. His father died when Percy was an infant after returning from his visit to the Caribbean. He returned sick and died two weeks later, leaving behind nothing but a violin—which Percy now treats like a precious artifact—and his baby with brown skin.

“Still here,” I replied simply.

“And rummaging through my kitchen?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Technically, Percy is doing the rummaging.” I pointed out.

Percy elbowed me before cutting in. “We’re looking for something to eat, is all.”

“Should you be eating?” She asked.

“I don’t understand.” Percy replied quietly.

His aunt glanced at me, although glared was a more fitting term. “Mister Montague, might I have a moment with my nephew?” It was a request, but sounded more like an order.

I looked to Percy, who nodded. “Of course.” I slipped out of the room, but stayed close to the door. Maybe I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but maybe Percy’s aunt should have been less cryptic.

“—discussed this.” Percy’s aunt, again, sounded exasperated.

“I know, but I can’t exactly control it.” Percy replied. I’d never heard him so on edge. What in hell were they talking about?

“You know he isn’t supposed to know. That Montague boy is a rake and I’m sure he’d love to tell—”

“Monty would  _ never _ .” Percy cut her off, his voice acidic.

“Wouldn’t he? You can’t trust him.”

“I don’t understand what Monty has to do with this!”

“He  _ saw you,  _ Percy! He comes running to my bedroom, shouting his lungs out.  _ Christ _ , that boy was loud. He raised a fuss over your fit, woke Thomas. Thomas isn’t pleased to know that  _ he  _ knows.”

Percy’s reply was muttered.

“He might be right.”

“This wouldn’t be happening if I had any say in it!”

The conversation paused, and when his aunt spoke again, she sounded exhausted. “You know we care for you, Percy. I know how much Henry means to you, but this could ruin us.”

“It won’t.” Percy said firmly. “Monty wouldn’t do that to me. I know what you think of him but I trust him.”

“But you haven’t told him, have you?”

_ No.  _ I wanted to shout.  _ No, Percy hasn’t told me. Now I’m wondering what the hell he’s keeping from me! _

“No.” Percy replied evenly.

“Good. Well, I suppose you have no choice now. Go, I’ll make breakfast.” She sighed heavily and I imagined her leaning heavily on the counter. “Make sure he tells no one. You know what could happen, Percy.”

“Yes ma’am,” was Percy’s muttered reply.

I stood quickly, running to the sitting room and setting myself on the sofa so it seemed like I was there the whole time.

“Monty?” Percy appeared in the doorway. He looked troubled and I wanted to take his face in my hands and kiss him until Percy never felt anything but happiness. But I reminded myself that doing so likely wouldn’t bring him happiness, only me.

“Hello, darling, are we getting breakfast?” I asked, maybe too nonchalant to be believable.

Percy nodded, working his bottom lip with his teeth. “Yes, but I’d like to speak to you first.”

I laughed, because I didn’t know how else to respond. “So formal, darling,” I stood. “Let’s talk upstairs, yeah?”

“Yeah, that sounds better.” Percy replied quietly.

I took Percy’s hand and led him upstairs. He was tense. I squeezed his hand but he didn’t respond. We sat on his bed again—which cut into our tense silence with a squeak that I hadn’t noticed before—Percy sitting at the edge while I crossed my legs on the bed. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Last night,” Percy said, not looking at me. He stared at the wall on the other side of the room while I studied his face.

“Ah, that,” I replied shortly.

“Were you going to say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure how to ask you.”

“Go ahead.” Percy chuckled weakly. “Tactfulness isn’t your strength, Monty.”

“I resent that!”

“It’s the truth.”

I didn’t have an argument. “Bastard,” I muttered in reply.

“Can you please be serious right now? Or at least less  _ you _ ?”

“I don’t know who else to be, Perce. Just tell me.”

Percy sighed, rubbing his eyes. “What happened last night . . . you weren’t supposed to have seen that.”  
“Yes, I gathered that, but what _was_ it?” I interrupted.

Percy was silent for a moment. I nudged him with my knee and he flinched. I realized he was shaking, crying.

“Perce?”

Percy sniffled, wiping quickly at his eyes before looking at me. He swallowed thickly. “I need you to be patient for one damned moment. Just let me figure out how to say this without you panicking on me.”

“Panicking? Why would I panic?” I asked, when in truth I knew that was a valid worry. Hell, I’d gone through several stages of panic last night.

Percy shook his head. “Just be quiet. Listen.”

I nodded to show him I was listening.

“I had a seizure last night.”

“A-A what?”

“A seizure. That’s what was happening. I don’t know how else to explain that to you.”

“O-Okay,” I nodded again. “But why did it happen?”

“I have epilepsy. Do you know what that is?”

“Sort of.” I had heard of epilepsy before; but it was all horror stories of demons and possession and insanity. Some stories were less horrific, but still dramatic tales of sickness in peoples’ heads. None of these stories matched Percy. Percy was fine. He wasn’t crazy. “You’re sick?”

“Sort of.” Percy echoed.

“How long has this been happening?”

“For about two years.”

“Two years?!” I leaned back.

Percy nodded sheepishly, looking down at his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I didn’t want to scare you.” Percy’s reply was a whisper.

“We’re best friends, Perce! You should have told me anyway! I thought we told each other everything.”

“We do, but this—”

“It’s not like I would have told anyone!”

Percy grabbed my arms. “Monty!”

I froze, staring at him.

“Look, it’s not that I didn’t trust you to keep it a secret. It’s that I didn’t know how you would handle it. You don’t handle these things well, Monty. You can’t handle important things, serious things. You run and you hide and I . . . I didn’t want you to run away because of this. Besides,” Percy paused, letting go of me. “You already have enough to deal with. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“But you’re my best friend.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I sighed, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling. “Do you trust me, Percy?”

“Of course I do. You know that’s not why—”

“I know. But I want to make sure you know you can. I take you seriously, Perce, even if you think I don’t.”

“Okay.” was Percy’s only response.

“Is there a cure?”

“For epilepsy? No. It’s all quack shit like hypnosis. Some things they give me help with seizures, make them farther apart, but nothing sticks.”

“Oh,” I reached out and found Percy’s hand with my own. My next question was quieter. “Are you going to—”

“No,” Percy cut me off sharply. “I’m not going to die; not from epilepsy, anyway.”

“Good. I don’t want to lose you.”

Percy sighed in what I hoped was relief and laid next to me, still holding my hand. This was one of those moments where I could almost convince myself that I was more to Percy than his best friend.

 

Two days passed with a strange fog settling over me and Percy. I was still on edge, worried Percy would suddenly have another seizure. He says epilepsy won’t kill him and I know epilepsy itself can’t kill you. But the seizures were something entirely different. I wasn’t sure what to expect from seizures but Percy clearly is capable of hurting himself or getting hurt during one. Besides all that, it was unsettling to know Percy was sick, had been sick for two years, and there was nothing to do about it. Percy shouldn’t have to deal with being sick because he was Percy. And if something were to happen to Percy, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Because Percy is my best friend and without Percy there was no point in living.

Everything was better with Percy. Even sitting on the railing of the manor balcony. We sat there, silently, but it wasn’t exactly awkward. Percy stared ahead as wind tousled his hair, eyes closed. I watched Percy, trying to count the faint freckles that were scattered on his cheeks. They were hard to see unless you were close enough.

Percy opened one eye, looking at me. I met his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.” Percy said quietly, closing his eye again.

I swayed on the railing. “Like what?”

“Like I’m fragile, or like I’m broken,” Percy shrugged. His voice was mild but I knew him well enough to know that the set of his mouth meant he was upset.

“I don’t mean to.” I leaned over and nudged his shoulder with my nose.

“That makes it worse, Monty.” Percy sighed. He finally opened both eyes and looked over at me. His face softened but he still looked closed off, hurt but trying to mask it.

I frowned, “What do you mean?”

“You’re not trying to. It just happens. That’s worse because I know you’re not trying to pity me, you just  _ are. _ ”

“I don’t pity you!” I protested.

“Yes, you do,” Percy replied, nudging my foot with his own.

“Why would I pity you?”

Percy gave me a look that said  _ you know why _ , and he was right. I did know why. It wasn’t pity exactly. Did I feel sorry for Percy? Of course. But I mainly watched him the way I did because Percy was even more precious to me now. Knowing how easily I could lose him made the want to keep him with me forever even stronger. Perhaps it was dramatic, thinking about losing Percy when he had told me explicitly, repeatedly that he wasn’t going to die. Maybe it was also knowing Percy didn’t see fit to tell me. Percy’s excuses fell on partly deaf ears. Somewhere, deep inside, he didn’t trust me. Somewhere, I didn’t matter to him as much as he mattered to me; though I knew that already. I was hopelessly in love with Percy while I was just Percy’s best friend. It was a fine line for us but I was miles across it.

“I don’t pity you.” I repeated.

“No? Then why do you watch me like that? I’m not delicate, Monty. I won’t break. I won’t crack.” Percy reached over and took my hand, tightly. “I’m not going to crack.”

I wondered if Percy could feel my pulse, hammering against every part of my body. This was precarious territory, Percy touching me while we talked about how I felt. It could so easily slip from my mouth that I loved him, that I never wanted to lose him. Luckily, if that happened and went badly, I could simply lean far enough forward and I’d fall off the railing.

“I know,” I nodded, squeezing Percy’s hand. “I just . . . I don’t know, Perce.”

“You do know.”

“I don’t.”

“You do!”

I sighed dramatically, pressing my face into Percy’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m going to pester you until you tell me.”

“I think your aunt is right about me being a bad influence on you. What happened to you being a pushover?”

“Quit trying to change the subject.” Percy shrugged the shoulder I had my face in. “Jaw, Monty.”

I sat up but kept my hold on Percy’s hand. “I just worry about you, I guess.”

“ _ You  _ worry about  _ me? _ ” Percy asked, tone dubious.

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“I didn’t know Henry Montague was capable of feelings so complex.” Percy said, a smile creeping onto his face.

I let go of his hand, crossing my arms. “God forbid I try to say something nice!” I exclaimed, echoing my words from a few days prior.

Percy laughed, “Okay, Monty, I’m sorry.” He leaned his head on my shoulder. “I appreciate the concern, but you know you don’t have to worry. This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to see me any differently. Leave the worrying to me.”

I huffed, “I’m still rather offended.”

“Hm, you’ll get over it.” Percy sat up again.

“I’m not sure I will.” I replied.

“What if we go out for a drink, yeah?”

I made a show of gasping. “Percy Newton  _ offering  _ to go to a speakeasy?”

“Don’t act so surprised or I’ll take the offer back.” Percy rolled his eyes.

“No! Too late! We’re going!” I slid off of the railing and back onto the balcony.

Percy sighed, sliding back off as well. “If only you got as excited over other things as you do over liquor.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang Glossary—  
> tip a few: to have a few drinks  
> looker: pretty woman  
> sap: dumb guy  
> ritzy: elegant  
> keen: attractive or appealing  
> listen while you read! [not that i was a saint](https://open.spotify.com/user/1244763432/playlist/0b5dEHyjSztoEO73Bz3rlS?si=eqYA7oGHSSGX7AP_ckaFHQ)

“I hate you so much.” Percy muttered, then vomited again. Percy could usually hold his liquor pretty well—not as well as me, of course—but last night we may have had a bit  _ too  _ much.

“Oh, come on, Perce,” I nudged his side. “I told you just to tip a few.”

Percy glared at me again before puking whatever was left in him into the toilet. I held his hair back the entire time, trying—and failing—to tie it back with a ribbon. Percy’s hair was always troublesome. It was thick, dark, and curly. It went to Percy’s shoulders and he had repeatedly mentioned cutting it short like most men wore it, to which I always replied that I will murder him if he does.

When Percy finally came up, he pushed me away, grabbing a towel to wipe at his mouth. “I’m never going drinking with you again.”

“We both know that’s not true.” I replied, flicking a curl back from Percy’s face. “Now hold still so I can finally tame your hair.” I turned Percy’s head and tied his hair back.

“Remind me why I can’t cut my hair?” Percy asked, staggering to his feet. I stood as well, watching as Percy rinsed his mouth with sink water.

“Because I adore your hair.” I said, tugging it lightly to emphasize my point.

Percy grunted, “Anything to please Henry Montague.”

“You’re just bitter about last night. Why’d you even drink so much, Perce?” I’d hardly seen Percy drink more than two glasses, but last night he’d downed five by the time we were leaving. I’d gotten  _ distracted  _ by a looker by the bar and left Percy to his own devices for no more than twenty minutes. Yet when I came back he was drinking like me.

Percy just shook his head. “Just forgot how much I could handle,” he said.

I nodded, “Been there, done that.”

 

Saturdays were mornings for routine. My mother believed that family breakfast at least once a week was mandatory for a functional family. Our family was far from functional, but we all let Mother dream. Percy, of course, had been semi-adopted into our family. If anything, though, it made us  _ more  _ functional.

“Felicity, put your book away.” Mother scolded gently.

Felicity shook her head without looking up as Mother set a plate before her.

“Felicity,” Mother tried again.

“Felicity, put the damned book down before I burn it.”

The entire room seemed to freeze at my father’s voice.

“Good morning, dear,” Mother said quietly. She went to pour coffee for Father. Felicity slowly lowered her book, setting it in her lap.

“Wait on the coffee, Adeline.” Father stopped Mother, turning to me. “Henry,” he said, voice flat. He fixed me with a gaze that never meant anything good.

“Good morning, Father,” I said, stiffly.

“I need a word with you.” Father beckoned me with a finger. “Come with me. Let’s talk in my study.”

Panic built inside of me, making my chest tight and my muscles clench as one. The study meant I was in for punishment. Father and I never had a reckoning anywhere else. There was still a stain on the dining room floor—covered with a rug now—where I bust my chin after Father knocked me to the ground. I was left to explain that to Mother, who seemed more distraught over not being able to get the stain out than my injuries. Though by then I’d stopped expecting Mother to worry herself sick over me.

“Yes, sir,” I stood, following my father into his study down the hall. Father’s study was a rather large room. The windows were open and I watched dust motes float in the light, if only to avoid my father’s gaze as he settled himself at his desk. I always stood a foot from the desk, on edge as I watched him. Father used to keep a chair there, but it was gone when I was expelled from Eton. I couldn’t help wondering if he took it out for my disadvantage. I stood there like a sap as he shouted at me, read our notes back to me, made large gestures to watch me flinch.

We existed in silence for a few moments, him sifting through papers as I watched him.

“You wanted a word with me?”

“The post came today, Henry.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to this or what he was building up to. “That’s good, I suppose?”

Father threw a piece of paper onto the desk. I watched, still not sure what he was getting at.

“What’s this?” I mustered the courage to ask.

“Read it.” Father countered.

I took the paper and nearly dropped it in an instant. It was covered in a stiff, ritzy scrawl that used to make my heart race for an entirely different reason.

“Henry, I thought that when you were  _ expelled _ , I made it clear that—”

“I didn’t write him!” I interrupted. Perhaps it was a mistake to do so, but for once I hadn’t disobeyed him.

“Don’t play stupid with me, Henry! I thought I’d made it clear that your . . .  _ messing  _ with boys was to stop. Eton was a mistake.” Father sighed and stood.

I curled in on myself and looked down at the letter again.

_ Dear Henry, _

_ It has been far too long since we have corresponded. I apologize for going silent but given our circumstances— _

Father ripped the letter from my hands. “Sinjon Westfall,” he began, tsking. “A young man with potential, I’ve heard.” He fixed his gaze on me. “It’s a shame he wasted it on you, Henry.” Father tossed the letter into the fire, which was burning despite it being September. A tiny, treacherous part of me mourned the letter. I’d made sure to close off all parts of me that cared for Sinjon, which having feelings for Percy made incredibly easy. But Sinjon held an odd, special place in my heart, even nearly a year later. The first boy to feel something for me; Richard Peele didn’t count. He never felt anything for me. But it’s easier to be with me and get away unquestioned than with some girl. That never stopped me, though.

But Sinjon was different. He cared, in a weird way. We were a sweet secret to each other. He may have called me Henry and had been way too formal for someone who routinely had his lips on mine, but he was kind when it was just us, almost sweet. He kissed my forehead and called me nice things. He told me I was gorgeous and that he couldn’t take his eyes off me. Sometimes it felt like love, though I wasn’t always sure what love felt like. My parents weren’t a model couple. Maybe he did love me, but I didn’t love him; if I did, I didn’t love him like I love Percy. I never looked at Sinjon and thought  _ I want to spend the rest of my life at your side  _ or noticed little, beautiful things about him, not like I do with Percy.

“Look at me when I speak to you, Henry.” Father said, pulling me from my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the letter in the fire, almost nothing but ash by now.

I nodded, looking back up but avoiding his eyes. I settled for staring at Father’s forehead, just so I wouldn’t have to see that half disappointed, half disgusted gaze.

He started to mutter under his breath in French. My French is quite lacking, but I’d learned things by listening to my father. But the things I’ve heard from him would only be useful if I wanted to berate someone or start a fistfight. “Henry, I thought I had made it clear to you that this . . . mess was to stop.” Father switched back to English, but his accent was seeping through. This was usually my first warning.

“Yes, sir,” I said quietly. “I am aware.”

Father sighed, “I don’t think you are, Henry.”

I sighed as well, letting my eyes close. It would frustrate Father, but there wasn’t any point in acting my best at that point.

 

“You didn’t come back to breakfast.”

“Did you expect me to?”

“Not really,” Percy admitted. “Are you alright?”

I chuckled drily. “Of course I’m alright, darling. I always am.” I smiled crookedly. My eyes were still closed, so I wasn’t sure how Percy was reacting, but I imagined it was his exasperated  _ now isn’t the time Monty  _ face.

“That’s what you said after—”

“And I meant it then, I mean it now.” I opened my eyes, looking up at him from the floor. This is often where I found myself after a talk with Father, lying on the carpet and trying to disconnect from myself.

_ After Eton _ , I finished in my head. When I was expelled from Eton, the prestigious boarding school my parents had sent me to when I was fourteen, my life had been divided into two parts: before Eton and after Eton. Percy once said I was never the same after Eton. I said boarding school changes a man; Percy replied that it wasn’t boarding school that changed me. Maybe he was right. All I know is Eton brought me more trouble than it was worth.

I met Sinjon Westfall my second year at Eton. He was keen, with bright blue eyes and blond curls. He had kissed me behind the dorms and it was like letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and taking a breath of fresh air I didn’t know I needed all at once. We kept things very quiet. Sinjon was too formal with me in public for my liking, but if I brought it up Sinjon would brush it off and kiss me until I shut up. It was effective. We wrote more notes to each other than we ever talked. In person, it was silence in public and kisses in private. I should never have kept those notes but I couldn’t help myself. They were proof that someone wanted me and that I wasn’t entirely alone.

But then the notes were dug up, all because I couldn’t control myself when I gambled. I never gambled anymore.

It was after Eton that I started telling Percy I was always alright because I  _ was _ . I was alive and it hurt but I convinced myself I deserved it. If Father just wanted a punching bag, it wouldn’t have just been me. It would have been Mother and Felicity too. If Father wanted a punching bag, it wouldn’t have only happened when I did something wrong. It was a punishment that, since I clearly couldn’t learn my lesson, I deserved. Percy never seemed to understand that. I certainly didn’t like it but it happened and I had long learned to come to terms with that.

Percy sat down beside me. “Monty, he almost—”

“I damn know what happened, Perce!” I rolled my eyes. “I was there.”

“I’m sorry, Monty. It makes me worried to see you like this.”

“So you can worry about me but I can’t worry about you?” I snapped.

Percy blinked, “That’s different,” he muttered.

“Is it? Is it really?” I sat up, biting back a wince. I wasn’t beaten bloody or any mess like that, just sore. Father favored my torso. It was less obvious.

“I’m sick, Monty. It’s my lot and there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s not always fun but it’s what it is and I can live a rather normal life even with it. It’s not life threatening and it doesn’t change me. But you, Mont . . .” Percy trailed off.

“I’m alright,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest. “I’ll always be alright, Perce. I’m not dead, or dying. It’s not always fun—”

“It’s  _ never  _ fun.” Percy interrupted.

I shrugged, “Just my lot I guess.”

“I’m going to fight him.”

“Who? My father?”

“Yes,” Percy nodded.

That drew a laugh from me and I leaned my head on Percy’s shoulder. “You’re such a gentleman, Perce, hypothetically defending my honor.”

“I would!”

“Would? What’s stopping you then?”

Percy gave me a sideways glance and I cackled. “Relax, nobody is asking you to fight my father.”

He flicked the top of my head, gently pushing me off of his shoulder. “Well, what  _ did  _ your father want to see you about?”

I put on a bright grin and Percy sighed, knowing he was in for it. “The post came in today, Percy!” I said cheerily.

Percy slowly raised an eyebrow. “Okay . . . ?”

“And you will  _ never  _ guess who wrote to me.”

He seemed even more baffled. “Who?”

“Sinjon Westfall!” I said in the British accent Sinjon possessed. I used to love it but looking back it was insufferable.

“No,” Percy said flatly.

“Yes!” I replied.

“He didn’t deserve you.” Percy huffed.

“Hey now—”

“Monty!”

I shook my head. “Sinjon was respectable. That’s more than you can say for me.”

“Sinjon used you.”

“He did not!”

“Why are you defending him? You don’t even like him!”

I huffed, laying my head on Percy’s shoulder again without response. He was right, I resented Sinjon. As far as lovers go, he was disappointing. I knew I could do better, someone who wasn’t ashamed of me at least. Although, I couldn’t blame them if they were. “Just reminiscing I suppose. They say you never forget your first love.” I said, my voice purposefully wistful so Percy knew I was kidding. He was certainly my first, and likely my only, love. Who else could even come close to tolerating me as much as Percy did? “I hate him, though. But I’ll be honest that him writing me makes me hate him a little less.”

Percy grunted, “I still hate him.”

“But not as much as we hate Richard Peele?” I asked, voice lifting.

Percy, in the traditional response to Richard Peele’s name, shouted: “WE HATE RICHARD PEELE!”

 

“You’re . . . reading a book.”

I startled, looking up to see Felicity in the doorway. I was curled up on the sofa in the library, a book sitting in my lap. I had been staring at the same page for a good thirty minutes. Percy had rehearsal and, as usual, I felt empty without Percy. I felt especially empty considering my past mistakes recently coming back to haunt me. The thing was, Percy had friends, had a life. When I wasn’t with Percy, I was usually asleep or drunk. Percy really was all I had. Getting a letter from Sinjon reminded me of this much because  _ who else did I have? _

“I try new things, Felicity.” I retorted.

“But . . . you’re  _ reading. _ ” Felicity seemed shocked and it made me feel like a sap. It was like my entire family was in agreement to make me feel like an absolute idiot in every way possible.

“Yes, I am,” I replied, although I wasn’t. “Didn’t you come here to do the same?”

Felicity was still staring at me and I shut the book, setting it to the side.

“Felicity,” I stood, “since you won’t allow me to read in peace, I’ll get going now.” I made my way to leave, not even bothering to shelve whatever book I had been staring at.

“Monty,” Felicity reached to grab my arm and I jerked away, sharply. I winced internally. Felicity wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was fifteen and she was realizing things. Felicity had been eleven when I kissed Richard Peele the first time and Father had lost his mind. She’d found me, sitting in the kitchen with a bleeding nose and busted lip as I waited, expecting Mother to come patch me up; she never appeared and later that day told me I was a young man now, responsible for my own actions and for dealing with the consequences. Felicity asked what happened and I said I fell. I didn’t want to corrupt my young sister, lead her to fear our Father how I did. She didn’t ask questions after I returned from Eton, so beaten and bloody I couldn’t open one of my eyes or breathe without pain. I wondered what our parents told her. I wonder if she believed them. Felicity can be oblivious but she definitely isn’t stupid. Felicity watched me for a moment with a look more appropriate for dealing with an easily spooked animal—perhaps the two weren’t all that different.

“Uh, can we go on a walk?” Felicity asked.

I raised an eyebrow. Felicity and I weren’t exactly adversaries anymore. As kids we were like feral cats with each other, spitting and clawing. But when I returned from Eton, it lessened. Maybe Felicity pitied me. Maybe I couldn’t bring myself to put much effort into it anymore. Maybe neither of us saw the need to bother with it when we already had our parents to deal with. Still, she wanted to do something together. It gave me a bad feeling.

“Sure,” I shrugged, following Felicity out of the library. We were able to leave the manor unnoticed and Felicity took the lead. “So why are we out and about?” I asked.

It was Felicity’s turn to shrug. “I just felt like it.”

“Oh yes, and you’re known for your spontaneity.” I replied flatly.

Felicity gave me a quick glare and I almost relaxed under the familiarity of it. But then her face turned content again and it made me anxious. “Can I ask you something, Monty?” Felicity said.

“Depends on what you ask,” I replied, doing my best to seem nonchalant. Felicity’s tone was too careful, too practiced.

“Are you in pain?”

I stopped short. “Excuse me?”

“You move like you’re hurt.” Felicity replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m not.” I started walking again.

Felicity reached forward, her fingers hitting my side. I hissed under my breath and flinched. It was just us, still making our way from the neighborhood to the city. I stood as far from Felicity as the pavement allowed. She stared at me, eyes wide. I stared right back.

“You startled me.” I said weakly, taking a step back towards her.

“I figured that. What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?”

Felicity fixed me with a hard stare. She grabbed my wrist and I let her. She poked my side and I bit back a yelp, staying still. “You’re hurt.”

“Nothing major,” I pulled out of her grip.

“What happened to you?” Felicity repeated.

“What’s it to you?” I said, unsure what else to say.

Felicity looked affronted. “You’re my brother, Monty.”

I stared at her for a moment. It was a strange reasoning. Brother held little weight in my mind, about as much weight as father held. Family was just a word for people stuck with each other. “And?” I finally said.

“I may not like you but it’s not like I want you dead.”

I scoffed, “I’m not dying.”

“You’re hurt, Monty. What happened? Did you fight a fella in a bar?”

“Oh yeah, took him down in five easy minutes.” I said, hoping to brush it all off.

Felicity grabbed my arm before I could walk anymore. “Monty, you’re an awful liar. And no boozehound fights and doesn’t swing for the face. It was Father wasn’t it?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are painfully tactless?” I snapped.

“Monty,” Felicity said flatly.

“Why are you asking questions if you know the answers?”

Felicity stopped this time before shrugging. I’d never seen her shrug so much before. “I wanted you to say it.”

“I’m going back to the manor.” I stated, wanting this conversation to be over. There was a difference between Felicity speculating and Felicity knowing. I’d never truly said it out loud. Percy knew, merely by watching and asking the right questions. I could hardly lie to Percy. When he finally asked  _ did your father do this,  _ I nodded.

“Monty,” Felicity said again.

I kept walking. Felicity chased after me and kept talking but I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to discuss this.

“I’m sorry.” Felicity said.

I froze. Felicity didn’t apologize. She wasn’t like me, groveling with every wrongdoing because Felicity never felt  _ wrong _ . “What?” I turned to face her.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity repeated, “for what he does to you.”

I crossed my arms, holding myself. “I don’t know why you’re apologizing. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“How can I not?” Felicity asked. This reminded me, eerily, of the conversation Percy and I had on the balcony.

“Because I can handle it,” I said. “I’m perfectly fine, Felicity. A little pain is good for a man.”

“This seems like a lot more than  _ a little  _ pain.” Felicity retorted.

“Then I can handle that too.” I said before walking away.

_ You don’t handle these things well, Monty. You can’t handle important things, serious things. You run and you hide . . . _

To Percy’s discredit, I wasn’t running.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluenose: a buzzkill or a prude  
> sorry I haven't updated in forever y'all I'm really not trying to stick to monthly updates it just h a p p e n s  
> Listen to the playlist! not that i was a saint

Felicity and I avoided each other like the plague. Well, I avoided her. Felicity, thankfully, didn’t go out of her way to talk to me either. She would watch me across the dinner table, eyes widening when I flinched.

Felicity was wasting her time. Father wouldn’t do anything to me so soon. Felicity was going to forget by the next time he punished me anyhow. I hoped she would. Three days of silence and avoiding glances passed before Percy noticed.

“What’s going on with Felicity?” He asked, quietly, as he ripped a weed from the ground. The Montague Manor gardens were my mother’s pet project, which she often employed us to help with.

“What do you mean?” I replied, glancing up at him. I sat on the ground, pulling weeds from here and handing them to Percy. I was supposed to be ripping weeds like Percy does, but after seeing me wince every time I stood up, Percy forbade me from continuing. I wasn’t entirely against that.

“She’s been quiet lately. You two have been avoiding each other?”

I must have paused too long, considering how to answer the question. Percy frowned.

“Did something happen between you two?”

I sighed, “A bit, yes.”

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Felicity decided to stick her nose into my life.” I said, trying to avoid eye contact as I pulled another weed.

“How so? There isn’t much to stick her nose into.”

“For one, I resent that,” I threw a weed at him. “Two, she became rather concerned about me. Specifically, me and Father.”

Percy’s eyes widened, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he froze. “What did you say to her?”

“I didn’t answer any of her questions, if that’s what you’re asking.” I replied.

Percy frowned, like he was disappointed.

“Don’t make that face.” I said, poking his calf.

“Why?”

“Did you expect me to tell her?”

Percy hesitated and I rolled my eyes. Percy and I hardly spoke about these things and this was why we never did.

“I thought that if you did, it could have—”

“Could have what?” I cut him off. “It’s not going to change, Perce. Nobody’s going to make him stop. He’s well within his rights to do so, isn’t he?” I stood, yanking a weed with me as I went. I shouldn’t still be sore, four days later.

“But maybe—”

“Just stop,” I held up a hand.

“Monty,” Percy said exasperatedly.

“You shouldn’t worry so much.” I took the bucket from him that we’d thrown the weeds in. “I’ll take this to Mother.”

“Monty,” Percy tried again.

“Later, Perce!” I called as I walked away from him. Percy knew me well enough to know that later meant never.

 

We weren’t a religious family, we truly weren’t. But in a city where you are the Christian or the Heathen, it is obvious which my parents choose. Mother was religious once, I believe. Perhaps she became convinced that God had turned his back on her with children like me and Felicity. Father was more of a deist himself, but appearances are appearances.

I’m sure he also enjoyed not being the one to lecture me on all my wrongdoings. Here, in Whatever-The-Hell Chapel, they were strongly for Prohibition and strongly against “mucking around” of any kind.

Church is an hour and a half of my father glaring at me as the speaker indirectly shames me.

Percy’s aunt and uncle sat in the pew behind us, with Percy next to me in my family’s. Usually, Percy and I would whisper crude things to each other and see who cracked first. It was different now. After our . . . disagreement Wednesday, it’s been days of silence and tension. I’d drank my fair share of whiskey those past few days. The soreness was gone, over a week later. It was all fading bruises now. But Percy still treated me like a porcelain vase.

I understood what he meant about not wanting to be treated like you’re fragile.

My mind often wanders during church. Why let some stranger berate me when I can do so myself? It’s not as if I mean to do so, but my mind wanders and it always ends up somewhere around there.

Things felt in shambles recently. Percy’s sick, Felicity’s trying to get into my business, Sinjon’s letter has my father on edge with me, and now here’s Percy and I, at odds again. Sometimes I wondered if my dependency on Percy was too much. He felt like my anchor; without him, I was adrift in a sea of liquor and feelings I wanted to avoid. I really had nothing else to live for, so why did I worry?

Maybe I worried what would happen when I don’t have Percy anymore. The day would come, I knew it. One day, Percy would tire of me, if he hadn’t already. Poor Perce, the only one who could deal with me. Someone had to watch me, I suppose. Someone had to keep an eye on me and make sure I didn’t drink myself to death or slit my wrists. Percy was the unlucky sap who got the job. He made the mistake of befriending me when we were young and here we are. I’m sure Percy regretted it, somewhere deep inside, when we all realized I’m too far gone. But he won’t leave me now. Percy is too good. He’s too kind. He’d feel guilty for leaving me now when he and I both know he’s all I have.

Sometimes I want to grab Percy by his shoulders and beg him to leave me.  _ Leave me before I tie you down to me, before I’m too attached to let go. Break my heart like this before you break it in a different way. _

But I couldn’t lose him, not voluntarily. I needed Percy like I needed air or alcohol.

“Monty,” Percy nudged me to pull me out of my thoughts. I flinched and he frowned, but he just gestured for me to stand with the rest of the congregation.

My eyes were drawn to a statue at the front of the church: Jesus Christ.

Our dear reverend loved to say that people were made by God in his image—whatever that means. He also says God doesn’t make mistakes. I didn’t believe it.

I wanted to ask:  _ How the hell do you justify this then? _

My father and I were in agreement on one thing: I was a mistake, a disappointment, a failure, a regrettable decision, etcetera, etcetera. How could anyone say the Good Lord made no mistakes when I walked the Earth?

Perhaps that was why I was the way I was. God made his first mistake and gave up on someone eighteen years ago and now he’s trying to cover for it.

Though is he planned to off me sometime soon, I wished he’d get on with it.

I felt a tug at my wrist, which was Percy pulling me as we left. He knew I’d blanked out, and he was watching me like he thought I might combust.

I hated being like this. I hated that he saw it.

 

“Can we talk?” Percy said as my will to live left me.

“What about?” I asked, hanging up my coat.

“You know what,” Percy shot back.

I sighed, “Maybe I do, but what is there to talk about?”

“Felicity, your father . . .”

“Both things that are out of your power or mine.” I pointed out.

“But don’t you think if you told her—”

“What do you think would happen, Perce? She confronts Father? That would only end badly for her. She tells Mother, who already knows and accepts it? I tell her and she does nothing? Just watches me like I’m a wounded animal from across the table?” I scoffed, tossing my shoes into the closet. “It’s all useless, Perce, just extra trouble.”

Percy watched me for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something.

“Just drop it, alright, Perce?” I sighed, turning to face him. “Telling Felicity won’t get me anywhere so I shouldn’t bother. It’s just easier this way.”

“Easier for who? For him? For your mother? Because it certainly isn’t easier for you, Monty.” Percy insisted, as if this was an argument. He said all these things, but we both knew it was all hypothetical. Neither of us, especially not me, would be doing anything about my father any time soon.

“It’s easier for everyone. It keeps my parents happy, keeps things predictable, and I . . .”

“You  _ what _ ?” Percy demanded.

“I . . . don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I said, shutting it all down. Percy didn’t push. Percy was too nice to push.

 

“Henry!”

“Go back to sleep, Felicity.”

I felt a smack on my shoulder. “Henry Montague!”

I sighed, sitting up. “Christ, Felicity, what do you want?”

“It’s about Mother,” Felicity was tugging on my arm. “She’s gone into labor.”

“And we have to be awake for this part why?” I asked, mumbling and stupid.

Felicity rolled her eyes. “It’s our little brother, Monty. Get up!” Felicity grabbed my arm, pulling me out of bed. I followed her, though we were both still in pajamas. We stopped in front of our parents’ bedroom, where Father paced in front of the door.

“Father,” I said, gazing at the patterned carpet on the floor.

“Your mother is—”

Father was cut off by a scream from their bedroom, which told us exactly how our mother was.

Felicity and I grimaced.

“Sit in the library, will you? The midwife is tending to her. She will be perfectly fine.” Father shooed us away.

I wondered if he was trying to convince us or himself.

Felicity and I went to sit in the library, on the same couch where I sat last week.

“Monty, can we talk?” Felicity whispered, with just enough un-Felicity-like meekness that I knew exactly where it would lead.

“Is now really the time for this, Felicity?” I replied, slumped back on the couch. A bottle of brandy was sitting on a desk, telling me that Father had been here earlier. Father didn’t drink nearly as often as I did, but he drank. I reached for the bottle, drinking some straight from it.

“And is now really the time for drinking?” Felicity shot back. This was comfortable territory.

“It’s always the time for drinking.” I shrugged, taking another drink. “There’s just a right drink for the right time.”

Felicity snorted, “And brandy is appropriate right now?”

“Brandy is always appropriate. Other things, beer or champagne, would not be appropriate. Know your liquors, Felicity.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever  _ need  _ to know my liquors.” Felicity crossed her arms.

“Well, be a bluenose if you wish. I, for one, wish to finish this bottle of brandy.”

We sat in silence for a good while, flinching at the often heard noises—cries, screams—from upstairs. It was wildly unnerving. I nursed the bottle of brandy, wondering if I could find more and drown out all of the sounds.

The door slammed open, causing me to nearly spill the bottle down my front.

Father stood in the doorway, frowning. He looked distraught and was apparently too stressed to scold me as I hesitantly set the bottle back on the desk.

“Henry, Felicity,” he said, voice too low and grave for a man who was just granted a replacement son. “Come meet your little brother: Adrian.”


End file.
